I sat back on my heels. If only I could take the contents of the trunk and make something beautiful to wear out of the fabric scraps, take apart the jewelry and…
I pivoted, attic dust swirling around me like a cascade of fairy sparkles, and yelled for Tanner. “Can you come here?”
The folding ladder squeaked with every step.
“What do you need?” he asked as his head and shoulders appeared through the rectangular hole in the floor.
“Could you help me get this down to my room?”
“Sure.”
My gaze swept the tent-shaped space and honed in on the low book shelf. “And those books too.” I slid the trunk to the opening. “Watch the straps,” I cautioned, pointing at the cracked leather strips tacked to either end. “One broke and the other looks just as fragile.”
“I can take this myself. Where do you want me to put it?”
“My office. The room across the hall from the ground floor bathroom.”
While he maneuvered the trunk down the ladder and stairs, I scanned the books. Childhood favorites, vintage cookbooks, and a set of binders from Good Housesweeping, all with faded spines and covered in fuzzy, brownish dust. Better to haul up my vacuum cleaner and clean them off first.
Tanner stepped to the bottom of the ladder and held the sides as I descended.
“On second thought, I’ll get the books later.” I blew drooping strands of hair out of my face. “We can close this up now.”
Stepping off the lowest rung, I pulled the long string hanging from the ceiling and listened for the click of the lightbulb turning off. Tanner’s chest was to my back, both his arms raised as he guided the slightly warped attic door closed. He quickly lowered one arm, wrapped it around my shoulders, and let go of the door.
I tamped the urge to pivot on the balls of my toes—a dusty ballet dancer in dirty khakis and a snap-front shirt—and burrow my nose into his breastbone.
He turned me to face him with his free arm. “Calli?”
I got my wish. A cluster of curly chest hairs tickled the tip of my nose. My mouth went dry, and my lips likely tasted of old attic. I slipped my arms around his waist and waited.
If inanimate objects could hold their breath, then the walls and floorboards of my little A-frame were doing exactly that right along with me. I was safe. Buffered. And we were the only ones in my house.
I was safe—we were safe—from the presence in the orchard.
Tanner stroked his hands down my back and tugged at my shirt, slipping warm fingers between my skin and the sweaty patch of cotton. I shifted my hips when his fingertips asked permission to slide below the waistband of my pants. Tilting my head back, a cool blue light from the waxing moon washed over one side of his face.
He scanned the periphery of my neck, cheeks, and jaw before settling on eye-to-eye contact. “It would be so easy to court you, Calliope Jones.”
I lifted my heels off the floor and kissed the left side of his mouth and the right side.
“It would be so easy to be courted by you, Tanner Marechal,” I said, giving his name the French inflection that could make even a packing list sound sexy. “But I’m not ready.”
Chapter 11
The drive to Carmanah Walbran Provincial Park was bumpy and dusty and felt interminably long. I was glad for the use of Harper’s Jeep, which provided high clearance over the jumbled rocks and wash-outs that punctuated the logging road. I had to pay attention to what was directly in front of me, rather than run fantasies of what it would have been like to toss every caution and warning to the four directions last night and invite Tanner into my bed.
At one point, I stopped the vehicle and pulled over to stretch my legs and back. With the engine off, the only sounds were bugs and birds, and though I could have reached below the manmade surface of the road, I didn’t. I was afraid of what I might uncover in these logged-out, clear-cut areas of once magnificent forest, and without the support of the ground, I wasn’t equipped to explore my feelings for Tanner.
I could, however, acknowledge the rootlets taking hold in my heart, tender shoots of self-discovery that had nothing to do with being attracted to a man and everything to do with nurturing my witchy leanings.
Cleaning my hands on a disposable wipe, I got back into the Jeep and continued, and when I finally pulled into the park, I was ready to embrace my destiny. Mostly. Being in a vehicle by myself for five hours on my way to face a ritual of unknown proportions had shown me the humor in my situation. Plus, I always held the power to say no.
There were a dozen or so trucks, SUVs, and campers in the parking area. I slid off the front seat, opened the back door, and gathered my things. Only one path, marked by government-issued signs painted a familiar shade of brown, led out of the parking area and into the woods. Following an overlapping chorus of voices, I located the correct campsites. Bright orange and royal blue tents were visible behind a privacy fence of trees, along with small picnic tables loaded with coolers and propane cook-stoves. Eclectically dressed women bustled around the tables and benches.
At a site further down the path, a woman poked her head out
